Stalker
by Discord
Summary: It seems that, for some people, close proximity to the Batman leads to an unnatural fascination... rated for violence and language. Second chapter added.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Batman Beyond, but also a little side note... cocaine and crystal meth are to be avoid, at all costs, kids. Those are some extremely nasty substances, and I don't endorse their use in any way.

On with it, then! Do please review. :)

Gotham's been getting a lot of rain recently, Terry thought dreamily as his head snapped backwards.

His inertia was halted quickly – one of his assailants punched him, hard, in the back of his neck. Stars blossomed in front of his eyes.

"Terry, get out of there!" Bruce shouted, hoarse. When the men had first surprised Terry, blitzing him with nothing more than pipes and their fists, Bruce had been silent, confident of his protégé's skill. But when they landed hit after hit, Bruce began to mutter, to worry. Not normal men. Slappers, splicing? Maybe crystal meth and a bad temperament?

Whatever the case, Terry had no chance against these five men. Bruce's shout in his ear startled him out of his escape into thoughts of precipitation. Now he felt the pain. "You know, I'd love to," he gritted out, but the voice over Bruce's speakers wasn't sarcastic, was thin.

The camera angle shot to the sky, a roaring sound – Terry was trying to fly out of there. The ascent stopped abruptly and reversed, someone must have snatched his ankle. Terry couldn't help his groan on impact.

"I'm calling Gordon," Bruce announced.

"No!"

Bruce's hand froze over the handset. Did Terry say that to Bruce or to his assailants?

"Don't you dare, old man!" Ah.

His attackers stopped. The tallest, obviously the leader, stepped foreword. "What was that?"

The camera was staring at the sky again. Terry was on his back and breathing shallowly. A hard breeze, the kind you expect from being on top of a building, whipped past the microphone, the fabric that normally protected it from the elements having been torn. Bruce strained to hear what was being said.

"Al…hav…to do is just ask me to stop, and we'll stop." Leader's mouth widened as Terry rolled his head towards him. "Just _beg _me, Batman. And you can live."

Terry didn't respond. "Do it," Bruce intoned. "You'll never get out of there otherwise. Just… I know… just suck it up and do it."

When he didn't get an answer, Leader drove his booted foot into Terry's abdomen. He let out of a gasp of surprise, and a choked moan. He coughed, and Bruce saw blood splatter onto the pavement. He hoped fervently that it was from a cut on Terry's face.

"Just fucking BEG," Leader snarled. His hand closed over Terry's throat, lifted him, lifted him as limp as a thirsty flower, held him over the edge of the building. Bruce quickly checked Terry's location. Only five stories, Terry had fallen from worse, the suit could take worse, but in that condition?

The camera swung suddenly, dizzyingly, Bruce caught a glimpse of Leader and his cronies laughing at the top of the building, one smoking, another holding a vial and a tiny blue spoon at his nostril. "Want a bump bef…" Their voices were getting dimmer, their forms smaller, the building larger.

Bruce waited for the crunch, dreaded, anticipated it, and when it finally echoed over the speakers, he was relieved. This wasn't the same crunch that he'd been hearing for the past fifteen minutes – this was the sound of a body falling on garbage and gravel, rather then the crunch and scrape of bones breaking and shifting against each other.

The men remained on top of the building, milling about slowly, exuberant but slowly, somewhat winding down as one of them twisted the ends of a joint and asked for a lighter.

The visor camera was still.

"Terry. Terry."

The camera was fogging a little – Bruce could faintly hear ratting exhales.

"Terry, I'm calling Gordon."

Terry didn't reply. Bruce's nerves trampolined.

* * *

"Why did Gordon want us all here so late? Anybody know?"

There were four men in the room, all looking a little glazed. They unfogged slightly when Commissioner Gordon entered. She began speaking only after she locked the door and pulled the blinds down.

"Due to a combination of circumstances, you may not speak to anyone but those in the room regarding what we are about to discuss. You're here because you're the best, you're here because I… feel that I can trust you. If you have any doubts about your secret-keeping abilities, it would be best if you left now. I would not think any less of you."

A moment passed. The thinnest man peeped, "Is it legal?"

A smile passed over Gordon's lips. "Perfectly. We're going to help a man who has helped us immeasurably."

The men were silent. The thin one, Kyle Younger, put his head down. A man with a buzz cut, Rahul Sulaweyo, looked steadily at Gordon. "What's the mission?"

"We rescue the Batman. Immediately." The tall, metropolitan-looking man, Austin Dario, looked up sharply. The fourth man in the room, Wade Calais, exhaled, pale-skinned under the PD's fluorescent lighting.

"This will be the fastest briefing in history," muttered Gordon. Raising her voice, she said simply, "Dario and Sulaweyo, you are here because you are the best stealth officers on the force that I feel are trustworthy." A chuckle from the two men. "Batman was attacked tonight by men under the influence of as of now unknown drugs, and we'll need your help. Younger and Calais, you're here because you are the most discreet ER doctors at Central." She straightened, and unlocked the door. "Let's not wait around."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to Knottaclue, I'll try!

I'm making a few guesses here on random details, let me know if I'm wrong on any of them.

* * *

"Terry. Terry." Bruce hadn't stopped saying it for the full five minutes between Terry's fall and a sudden ring from the handset, making him jump. He snatched it, furious. He knew who it was.

"What the fffuck took you," he growled.

"Scoping out, didn't want to meet anyone. Where do you want me to bring him?" On-screen, two men, one thin and one pale, working over the Bat's body feverishly. The pale one turned to Gordon, and Bruce heard his ensuing question on the speakers and the phone, making it seem to echo. "Sir? I… we need to get the suit off him to treat him properly."

There was a pause. Bruce sighed.

"Do it."

The pale man's face was distorted slightly through the camera. He reached eagerly, reverently, to the mask on Terry's face. The camera skewed, spun, settled at an upside-down angle, facing Terry's side. Bruce turned his head, though – he'd see the damage soon enough.

He heard a faint gasp, the microphone muffled. "Jesus. That's Batman."

"Yeah, fucking duh, Calais. Hand me…"

"Take him here," Bruce said.

Gordon's voice was flat. "No."

"What?"

She sighed. "I know you're protective, of the suit, of the kid, everything, but he probably has internal bleeding. That can't be handled at home with a rent-a-nurse."

Bruce was silent for a moment. Then, "Take him to Mary Lee."

Gordon nodded her approval. Mary Lee was a private (and hellishly expensive) hospital, known to treat the rich and famous for anything – simple broken wrists, to drug addiction, there were even rumors that they cleaned up people who had… other people's blood on them, and asked no questions. If they got the suit off before handing him over (one can set expectations of privacy only so high), Mary Lee was the perfect place.

"I'll meet you there," Bruce intoned, and hung up. He immediately picked up the phone again, already forming a story in his mind – an errand, a late night, a shortcut through an alley… the phone stopped ringing and a woman picked up. "Hello?"

"Yes, Mrs. McGuiness…"

* * *

Sulaweyo and Dario left after Terry was hustled into the van by Younger and Calais. Gordon thanked them and sent them home, then scooted to drive the van to Mary Lee. Younger and Calais were in the back of the van, which had become a makeshift ambulance as Gordon slammed a portable siren on the top. She dialed her phone. "Mary Lee, I have one incoming…" 

Wade Calais's hands were busy, but his mind was frozen by one thought; This is Batman. This is Batman. Can't be the original, but an excellent replacement. His eyes traveled down the length of Terry's now suitless body, a small towel strategically placed by Younger out of courtesy. Oh, very excellent…

Gordon called over her shoulder, snapping Calais back to reality. "How is he?"

"Not as bad as it looks, which doesn't mean much because it's still pretty bad," Younger replied, his timidity taking a backseat to his instincts and skill. "Several fractured ribs, internal bruising and bleeding, left tibia fractured, right kneecap possibly fractured, left shoulder dislocated, mild scrapes… everywhere, main problem right now is his head. He hit it damn hard, could be a fractured skull, and he'll have some brain swelling for sure."

Gordon was silent.

Calais absently set the left leg, staring at Batman's face and privately taking inventory. Deeply set eyes (blue – he took a peek while Younger checked his dilation), thin, straight nose, strong jaw, thick lips – and, of course, that imperial forehead with points of dark hair swept off his face. Irish and Russian, he decided. It's the only way for those blue eyes and narrow nose to ally with the set jaw and lush lips. Italian, maybe?

The siren whined as Gordon squealed to a stop outside Mary Lee. Four attendants, in stylized ivory and forest green scrubs, were waiting. Bruce's car was already there.

* * *

Locusts? In the middle of Gotham? It's true that the population explodes as the summer wanes, but the noisy (his mother called them 'soothing') insects didn't usually brave the metal and concrete long enough for their songs to reach the windows of the McGuiness's downtown apartment. Once, Terry had found one on the windowsill, outside the screen and nestled safely between the pigeon spikes, humming bravely. It hummed for two full nights before it died. 

He wanted to look out the window to see if there really were any locusts, but his intuition told him that the grenade in his head was probably light-triggered, so opening his eyes would be a terrible idea. One of his worst.

After another couple hours of fitful napping, Terry cracked one eye open. Thankfully, someone had anticipated his light sensitivity and drawn the blinds over the surprisingly massive window. In fact, the entire room looked expensive… light wooden paneling on the walls, with ivory-colored trim; his bedding was forest green and plush; and there was a massive spray of flowers on a table that stood by the door. Pretty nice, for a hospital.

And Terry knew that it was a hospital. You can decorate the rooms and put real sheets on the bed, but you could never get rid of the smell of medicine, the smell of oxygen and clean, of huge whirring machines and the laser knitters that the doctors use to quickly heal minor abrasions.

He jumped when a gravelly voice came from somewhere to his right. "You'll need more training hours."

"God Bruce, I'm only starting to heal. You want to scare me to death?" Terry reached up to his temple, which itched annoyingly – he had to slide his fingers under a bandage slightly to rub the complaining spot. Bruce's eyes followed Terry's motion. "I see they've stopped using silk to dress wounds."

Terry stopped. "What?"

"Of course, they've added the flowers…"

"Where am I?"

Bruce's gaze, that had been on the flowers, returned to Terry. "You're at Mary Lee Private Institute of Health."

Terry blinked. Mary Lee. Well, they did buy up some surrounding land and planted a bunch of trees ("for tranquility in the city", the newscaster had said, adding that the general public was forbidden) – that would explain the locusts.

But – wait – "Mary Lee! How am I supposed to afford… I don't know, Bruce…"

"Calm down," Bruce interrupted. "You're not the one footing the bill."

Terry shook his head, then reminded himself not to shake his head for a while. "These injuries are my fault – I mean, if I could just go to Gotham Public…"

"Think of it this way: imagine that I am a racecar driver on the underground circuit." Terry choked back a sarcastic comment. Bruce continued, oblivious. "I'm in a race, and I underestimated a turn. The car can't handle it, wasn't built to handle it, and I crash. I take it to the best repair center… because I need it to be fast and capable. And it'll take a while, but then we… we'll race together again."

Terry was silent. Bruce got up to leave. Just as he was closing the door, he heard Terry call, "Yeah, whatever, old man, but if they try to install a carburetor, they won't know what hit 'em."

Bruce smiled.

* * *

"Brain swelling?" Terry's mother looked horrified. "And broken ribs?" 

"Ma, it's not as bad as all that, I'm only out of commission for like, three weeks."

She sank into the overstuffed armchair that rested by Terry's bed. "We're lucky that Mr. Wayne is paying for all this."

Terry blew out a breath. "Yeah, no kidding."

The door opened, and Gordon stepped in. She stopped once she saw Mrs. McGuiness, paused for one uncomprehending moment, then inclined her head. "I'm so sorry to interrupt. Bruce asked me to take Terry's report, so… I'm sorry, it never even crossed my mind that…"

"Oh, no, it's fine." Mary rose. "I'm sure that I'm driving my son wild with maternal instincts anyway." They smiled at each other. Mrs. McGuiness turned to Terry and pressed a kiss to his forehead. She smiled again and left, while Terry rubbed his forehead, flustered. He took a sidelong glance at Barbara.

"Taking my report, huh."

She gave him a level stare, then said, "Those bandages look great."

He flushed.

She continued, with the barest of smiles, "No, I brought a couple people with me… who I thought appropriate for you to meet."

She stepped into the hallway, waved two men into the room – one pale and tall, one meek and thin. "Terry, this is Wade Calais and Kyle Younger. They mopped you up after your… accident."

Terry was a little surprised. He'd figured that, if Bruce could have just kept him in the Manor with a hired nurse, he would have, but never really stopped to think about how he'd gotten to Mary Lee in the first place.

He looked at both of them. They looked like little kids trying to hide how excited they were on Christmas Eve.

Terry smiled at them, genuinely happy to meet the two men. "Kyle, Wade… Obviously I owe you dinner sometime."


End file.
